


Hard to Say No

by totalizzyness



Series: 00Q Prompts [26]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Christmas, First Kiss, M/M, Mistletoe, No one can argue with James Bond, Prompt Fic, Public Display of Affection, Q doesn't know why he bothers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-13
Updated: 2012-12-13
Packaged: 2017-11-21 00:14:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/591281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totalizzyness/pseuds/totalizzyness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Mistletoe kisses</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hard to Say No

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Hard to Say No](https://archiveofourown.org/works/839997) by [AprilforSpring](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AprilforSpring/pseuds/AprilforSpring)



As it got closer and closer to Christmas, the employees of MI-6 got more and more in the Christmas mood. A Christmas tree was erected in the foyer and elegantly decorated; individual employees decorated their workstations and offices. Q branch was not exempt. Instead of standard, shop-bought decorations, however, most of the minions fashioned their own decorations -- such as a small fir tree made from scrap metal, and a santa fashioned from something Q couldn’t even put his finger on.  
  
People whispered conspiratorially about who got who for secret santa, and what they were doing on Christmas Day... Q, meanwhile, tried to keep his head down and get his work done. The only decoration in his office was a small tree one of the more timid minions had given him, and he wasn’t a complete bastard, so it found a home on his desk.  
  
He wasn’t completely opposed to Christmas on a spiritual or familial level, it was just the commercialisation he hated. The time, money, and effort wasted on decorating and buying trashy presents and food, all for it to be binned by New Year. But he wasn’t a complete Scrooge; he let his co-workers have their fun, he didn’t dampen their spirits, he just refused to partake in their festive activities.  
  
The only other person Q knew of who shared his disdain for the holiday season was 007, who admitted to planning on spending Christmas Day drunk in front of the TV -- Q thought it sounded like an excellent plan.  
  
Six days before Christmas, Bond returned from a mission in Bucharest. Whilst he was being debriefed, Q got a call from Moneypenny, telling him to expect a visit from the agent once he was finished being told off by M. Letting out a long sigh, Q hurried with his work, knowing when Bond arrived he’d demand all of Q’s attention -- and get it -- and not relinquish it for a long time, sometimes hours.  
  
Fifteen minutes later, Bond strolled into Q’s office, the hint of a smirk on his lips. Q removed his glasses, rubbing the skin where they rested before slipping them back onto his nose.  
  
“Double-oh-seven, what can I do for you today?”  
  
Perching himself on the edge of Q’s desk, Bond shrugged nonchalantly. “I thought you’d be able to help me.”  
  
“The Psychologist is on the third floor, Bond, and I’m not even sure she can help you.”  
  
Bond chuckled, pulling a flashdrive from his breast pocket. “I recovered that on the mission, figured you’d like a go.”  
  
“And my equipment?”  
  
“Well... I’ve still got the radio.”  
  
Q huffed an indignant sigh, pulling himself to his feet. “You lose a gun and think a measly flashdrive is going to make it up to me?”  
  
Bond smirked, following Q through to the labs. “I don’t know yet, I haven’t the faintest idea what’s on it.”  
  
“If it turns out to be porn, I’m going to gut you.”  
  
“Well now you mention it, the mark did seem terribly reluctant to let go of it,” Bond chuckled, leaning bodily against Q’s computer desk. Q rolled his eyes, opening his laptop and began tapping at the keys. Christmas music was playing softly around them, some of the minions quietly singing along at their desks. Bond took a look around and smirked, pointedly looking at Q. Q noticed, shrugging.  
  
“They can do what they want so long as they get their work done.”  
  
“Does it not go against any... policies? Political correctness and all that?”  
  
“Employees of other religions don’t have to participate if they don’t wish. We’re not forcing them.”  
  
Bond shrugged, letting out a bored sigh. “Is there anything I can do to help?”  
  
“Return my guns once in a while?”  
  
“With this?”  
  
“Not particularly... You could get me some tea.”  
  
Bond rolled his eyes. “I’m an MI-6 secret agent, not your bloody assistant.”  
  
“You wanted to help, that’s how you can help.”  
  
“Fine... How do you take it? Milk? Arsenic?”  
  
Q smirked. “Splash of milk, no sugar, no arsenic.”  
  
Bond muttered quietly to himself, wandering over to the small kitchenette in the corner, flicking the switch of the kettle. A few moments later, Q appeared next to him, mug in hand and a smirk on his face.  
  
“You need something to contain the tea, Bond.”  
  
“Don’t you have things to be coding?”  
  
Q placed his mug down, grabbing the box of teabags from a cupboard. “Flashdrive’s being scanned, it’ll take a few minutes, maximum.”  
  
Bond hummed non-committally, leaning back against the fridge, watching as Q went about brewing his tea. One of the minions was making their way over, suddenly stopping in her tracks and letting out an excited squeak. Q spun round to look at her, quirking an eyebrow.  
  
“Are you okay, Sarah?”  
  
‘Sarah’ nodded, before motioning to the ceiling with her head. Q and Bond slowly looked up, frowning at the small sprig of mistletoe that loomed over their heads. Q huffed, elbowing Bond out of the way of the fridge door so he could retrieve the milk.  
  
“Don’t even think about it, double-oh.”  
  
Bond grinned wickedly, bracketing Q against the cupboards with his strong arms, neither of them noticing Sarah had scurried away. “Christmas tradition, Q.”  
  
“Tradition which I do not take a part in.”  
  
Still grinning, Bond pressed his chest against Q’s back, nuzzling the back of his neck softly. “Come on, Q. Don’t be a Scrooge.”  
  
“Scrooge eventually came around to the idea of Christmas, I, shall not.”  
  
“Grinch then.”  
  
“So did the Grinch... And I don’t hate Christmas, I just don’t see the point.” Q turned around to face Bond, an action he immediately regretted. Bond pinned Q against the cupboards with his body, their chests pressed flush together, his face hovering dangerously close. Q stared directly into Bond’s icy blue eyes, almost challenging him.  
  
“You don’t understand the true meaning of Christmas, do you, Q?”  
  
“Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s not making out with co-workers in the office.”  
  
Bond chuckled, his face getting seemingly closer. “No... that’s just a perk...”  
  
Q nodded, swallowing down a dry gulp as he felt Bond’s hand curl around his waist, his body pressing up even closer. He could feel his pulse throb beneath his skin, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up when he felt Bond’s warm breath tickle his face. He found his own face drawing slowly closer until their noses brushed, his eyes fluttering closed as Bond’s lips captured his own. His heart almost beat out of his chest at the feeling of Bond’s lips slotting perfectly against his; Bond’s warm hand holding onto his waist, the fingers digging into the soft skin. He let out an involuntary whimper when Bond’s tongue traced at the seam of his lips.  
  
Smirking into the kiss, Bond pushed even further, his other arm encompassing the quartermaster’s lithe body, holding him close as their lips moved languidly together. Q arms hesitantly reached up to hold on to Bond, one hand curling around the back of his neck, the other around his bicep, his fingers clutching at the strong muscle.  
  
Bond let out a quiet groan when Q licked at the roof of his mouth, clenching his grip on the quartermaster and pushing him up against the fridge door, slotting his leg between Q’s, pressing their bodies together. Q groaned in response, his nails biting into the skin of Bond’s neck, breathing heavily out of his nose to get his required oxygen without having to pull away from the kiss. Bond’s hand found its way underneath Q’s cardigan, his fingers twining in the fabric of his shirt, untucking it from his trousers, desperate to curl his hand around his warm skin.  
  
Q was rapidly becoming lightheaded, the quickening rate of his heartbeat and the lack of oxygen made him a little weak at the knees; only Bond’s strong body pressing him against the fridge was holding him up. He didn’t find himself minding too much, however. It had been such a long time since he’d last been kissed, and so thoroughly, too. He was slowly beginning to understand why he was such a hit with the ladies, on and off missions -- and one or two men too. He knew he had work to be doing, he knew his tea was starting to go cold, he knew the rest of the lab was probably watching and it was highly unprofessional of him to be making out with a double-oh agent in the middle of the lab, be he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Christmas tradition and all that.  
  
Eventually, one of the minions worked up the courage to interrupt, gently clearing his throat behind the couple. Bond finally pulled away, slowly turning to look at who had interrupted. The man smiled meekly, awkwardly shoving his hands into his jacket pockets.  
  
“Um, Q? Your scan’s finished. Also... I uh, need to get something out of the fridge.”  
  
Q took a moment to process his surroundings; his messy appearance; his glasses which were sitting askew on his face; his untucked shirt; the flush that was no doubt filling his cheeks. He cleared his throat awkwardly, nodding as he straightened his glasses. Bond smirked, taking two steps back.  
  
“Right. Thank you, Martin. Um... Yes...”  
  
Pointedly looking at the floor, Q hurried back over to his station, slumping down in his chair, hitting his forehead on the table top several times before continuing with his work. Bond smirked at the minion, raising his eyebrows in a silent challenge. The minion just smiled and quickly grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge before scurrying off. Chuckling, Bond picked up Q’s tea from the worktop and took it over, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his quartermaster’s head.  
  
“I’ll leave you to work. Call me when you have the results.”  
  
Q nodded, refusing to look up at the agent, curling his hand around his mug. Bond chuckled again, trailing his fingers over Q’s shoulders as he made his way out of the lab.


End file.
